


with a snake curled up in its limbs

by bloodredcherries



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, mentioned alice cooper/hal cooper, mentioned fp jones/gladys jones - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-09 22:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16458554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodredcherries/pseuds/bloodredcherries
Summary: “There are some secrets that are so painful, you not only hide them from the world, but you hide them from yourself.”Or.Six times FP and Alice shared a fucked up relationship and one time they shared a normal one.





	with a snake curled up in its limbs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/gifts).



> Hi Merit! I hope that you like this story, I really liked your prompt for Alice on your TOT letter. This sort of got away from me.

I 

 

“I know that you’re in there!” FP heard the woman’s voice shout, as the door to the trailer that Andrews’ Construction housed their office in started to shake. Clearly whomever was on the other end was displeased, and he wondered what the hell he had managed to do. Were they being robbed? He really didn’t think they could afford the hospital bills if someone shot him. “If you don’t open this door _right now_ , I swear to you, I will break it down.”

 

“It’s unlocked!” He offered, figuring that it might make the robber, or whomever the woman was, a bit happier if he threw her a bone. Her voice sounded familiar, but he couldn’t entirely place it. It had been a long day. FP knew a lot of people.

 

The door to his and Fred’s office opened with a bang, and FP Jones practically jumped a mile, not sure whether to be thankful that it was Alice Cooper that was the visitor, or wish that the person who had caused such alarm to him was actually a robber, or a thief. Surely they would have been more pleasant to deal with?

 

“Fred Andrews!” Alice raged, clearly oblivious to the fact that the target of her anger was nowhere to be found. Fred, you see, had gone home early that day, because...well, FP didn’t know why, exactly. He was sure that Fred had told him, but he really hadn’t been paying attention. Gladys had been in and out of the hospital again, and he was trying his best to keep them afloat, which meant late nights at the construction site, and ignoring the temptation of rejoining the Serpents. Apparently, it meant dealing with Fred’s angry neighbors, as well. FP had _not_ signed up for this. “I know that you’re in here! Stop hiding from me, this instant!”   


“He’s gone home,” FP said, taking pity on the blonde. There was no love lost between him and Alice -- she had broken his heart into a million pieces when she’d chosen Hal Cooper over him, and they rarely interacted -- but he still didn’t want her to be wasting her breath shouting into the air. “Is there something that I can help you with, Alice?”

 

“FP Jones,” Alice snapped, her eyes flashing behind her Northsider mask, a scowl settling on her face, before he watched her return to her normal state of prenatural composure. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were the one that was working late.”

 

“Got nothing to be sorry about, Alice,” he said, shrugging. “Need to make money somehow, don’t I?”

 

“How is she?” Alice asked. “Gladys. I heard she’s not well…”

 

“I don’t want to be the subject of your newsroom gossip, Alice,” he snapped. “What the hell have you heard? From who?”

 

“From _whom_ , Forsythe,” she corrected. “I reject your assumptions that Harold and I are _gossiping_ about you and Gladys at the Register. If you want someone to blame for my knowledge, why don’t you blame your _son_ ? And, for that matter, blame Archibald. Telling my sweet Elizabeth and your child that it would be _exciting_ if Gladys became a _ghost_ , encouraging them to sneak off to the _facility_ to see her? You’re lucky that Elizabeth asked me for a ride there. The other two were planning on taking _the bus_.”

 

“What?” FP gaped at her, and he watched as she paced back and forth, wondering if her distress was legitimate, or a trap. “You didn’t bring them there, did you?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and she rolled her eyes. “I don’t want to set foot in that place again.” She sighed. “I came here to chastise Frederick, because, when I lovingly interrogated the children, your child told me that he hadn’t told anyone where your wife was staying, but Archibald told me that his father _had_ done so. Elizabeth just cried.”

 

“Well, as we’ve established, he’s not here,” he muttered. “What do you want from me? I need to finish this stuff up before the babysitter gets fed up with watching the kids.”

 

“I want to help you,” she said. “For the kids’ sake. Let me help you out.”

 

“I don’t need your charity, Alice,” he muttered. “You want to help? Don’t let that jerk you’re married to stand in the way of our kids being friends. I don’t want to be indebted to you and _Hal_ for the rest of my life.”

  


II 

  
  


“That’s a pretty nasty bruise,” FP commented in a drawl, blatantly interrupting Alice as she stood in front of him in line for the pharmacist, smirking a bit at the murderous look she shot him. “What brings you here?”

 

“Are you serious, Forsythe?” She asked. “What could possibly be the reason that we encounter each other at the _local pharmacy_? Elizabeth needs her Adderall.”

 

“Starting her off early, eh?” He questioned, shifting the carton of cigarettes to his other hand. “What’s going to be next, Al? Stealing nips from the liquor store?”

 

“I do not need to justify my decisions to you,” she said, her tone low, and he briefly wondered if he had overstepped a boundary, before he decided he didn’t really care. Alice always overstepped boundaries. It was her job. “If you ever spent any time with Elizabeth, you would see that she needs this.”

 

“She’s a good kid,” he said. “Never wakes me up when she’s there and I’m sleeping it off.”

 

“Oh, that will go in my memoir,” she snarked. “My derelict ex-boyfriend thinks my daughter is delightful because she doesn’t worsen his hangovers. You should write Elizabeth a college recommendation letter when the time comes.”

 

“Never hit you, though, did I?”

 

“What do you mean by that?” She demanded. “Surely you’re not insinuating that--my God, you _are_ insinuating that. What the hell is the matter with you? Are you day drinking?”   


“What the hell else am I supposed to think?” He asked. “And, no, I am not day drinking. I only drink when the kids are asleep.”

 

“I walked into a wall, Forsythe,” she snapped.

 

“A wall named Harold, I bet,” he muttered, mostly under his breath. Alice’s eyes flashed. “What? I’m agreeing with you. You walked into a wall.”

 

“You are being deliberately obtuse,” she hissed. “What is the matter with you? If people think that I’m being _abused_ my life is over, and you damn well know that. You think I want to go back to the Southside? Are you huffing paint?”   


“Alice--”  
  
“What?”

 

“You know that I’d help you, right?”

 

“Don’t play with me,” she snapped. “You can’t even help yourself.”

  


III 

  


FP had managed to be mainly sober for the high school open house that Jughead had _insisted_ they both attend, even shaving for the occasion, though he was so _unbelievably_ bored that he had half a mind to bail out and just leave the kid there. He had seen Fred and Mary in the crowd of people earlier, and he was sure that Jughead could get a ride home from them.

 

Except.

 

The kid had asked him to go. He couldn’t remember the last time that Jughead had asked him to do anything, and he had a suspicion that it was a big deal that the kid had. He had even agreed to not don his Serpents’ jacket for the day, even though he had put up a token protest. The school district turning a blind eye to his move from the Northside to Sunnyside Trailer Park had been an unexpected blessing. He didn’t think Jughead would fair well at Southside High.

 

So, whatever. He could get through the stupid day of activities, and call it an early night.

 

A shadow loomed over his brooding form, and he peered up from the program he was pretending to read to see the specter of Alice Cooper, and, worse, one that seemed to be expecting a _response_ from him. He smiled weakly up at her, hoping that polite acknowledgement would get her to find a new victim. Fred, maybe?

 

“Did you even hear a word I said?” Alice snapped, her tone filled with irritation.

 

“You said...how nice to see you, FP?” He attempted. Her scowl deepened. “Not even close?”  


“That _horrible_ woman over there,” Alice said, pointing in the direction of the teacher whose class he’d wandered into, once the students and parents had been broken into separate groups, and he squinted at the name on the board, wondering why _Geraldine Grundy_ seemed so familiar to him, before shrugging it off and focusing on Alice, who appeared to at least not be focusing on him as a target for her rage, for the moment. “Has insisted that people pair off as _parental sets_ or something asinine, to do some _getting to know you_ project. As we can see, we have both arrived alone.”

 

“Gladys left me,” he muttered.

 

“I heard.” Her tone, while cold, wasn’t entirely unfriendly. “Harold is apparently at a journalism conference.” She sighed. “Anyways, I thought we could...pair up together.” She pursed her lips, as if the suggestion was paining her. “The children are friends, and I do not want to have that woman pair up with either of us for this sophomoric exercise.”

 

“I don’t even know where I am,” he admitted. “Alright, Alice, what do you want to know about me?”

 

“What?” She sputtered. “Don’t be so ridiculous, Forsythe. I have actual things to do beyond appeasing that woman here.”

 

He arched a brow. “Like what? Want to split the dessert platter I lifted for the boy?”

 

“You _stole_ a dessert platter?” Alice rolled her eyes. “My, how the Serpents have devolved in my absence. What’s in it?”   


“Stole is such a...strong word. I’m just...feeding the needy.” His companion raised a delicate brow. “It’s in my truck,” he added. “Come on, you don’t want to stay here, do you? It’s lame.”

 

“This is our children’s education--”

 

“Our children aren’t going to take,” he squinted at the board. “Instrumental Music. As if I would let Jughead take a class with anyone with that last name after I tormented Ms. Grundy during _our_ high school career.” He watched as the woman gave Fred Andrews blatant cow eyes. “Look, she’s hitting on Fred,” he gestured. “What if she got a good look at me, and decided to see what it was like to tangle with a snake? Imagine how you’d have to explain that to Elizabeth.”

 

“That _is_ interesting,” Alice agreed, and she gazed at the teacher with a look of disapproval. “Oh, fine,” she sighed. “I suppose that I would be better served to do my work in peace in your...truck.” She shook her head. “Come along, Forsythe.”   


“I have to admit, I am surprised to find you here,” she said to him, after she essentially frogmarched him down the hallways of Riverdale High and out to the parking lot, where he had parked the truck, next to a station wagon that had not been there when he and Jughead had arrived, but was immediately recognizable as Alice’s. “I wasn’t aware that you were involved with your child’s more...scholarly pursuits.”

 

“He asked me to come,” he admitted. “I figured it was the least that I could do for the kid, after all I’ve done to screw him up.”

 

“Is Gladys leaving _really_ the worst thing for him?” She asked, as she climbed into the truck, motioning for him to join her. “I mean, it’s unfortunate that she’s taken Forsythia,” she added. “Elizabeth told me.”

 

“I figured it was either that, or you had my trailer bugged.”  


“Please, why would I do that? You’d be putty in my blonde little hands after a few drinks, and I _know_ that. I see no joy in tormenting you over Gladys’s departure.”

 

He sighed. “I guess that’s what makes you better than me,” he admitted. “I can’t say for sure I would be as...benevolent.” He shrugged. “Do you mind if I smoke?”

 

“What are you smoking? And are you going to share?”

 

“A cigarette, Alice,” he muttered. “And, yeah, sure, whatever.”

 

“It’s a pity,” she drawled. “I was hoping that you would have something more...exciting for us.”

 

“I don’t do that shit around Jughead,” he said. “And I certainly wouldn’t bring it _here_ where the place is crawling with busibodies, such as yourself.”

 

“That is _offensive_ to me. Those idiots are _nothing_ like me. I have standards to uphold.”

 

“If you want,” he offered, holding out a cigarette for her, knowing she never would, but offering it all the same, “you can come by sometime. Like the old days.”

 

“You know that I can’t do that.”

 

“Yeah, Alice, I know. Just trying to be polite.”

  


IV

  


“I don’t have time to deal with you right now,” Alice said, seething as she stared at the person on  the other side of her front door. “What are you _doing_ here? If the neighbors see?”

 

“Oh, will you relax?” FP demanded. “Your neighbors? Fred and Archie? The ones that have taken in my child?” He sighed. “I was just wondering how you were doing.”

 

“What do you mean?” Alice demanded, her tone weary. “How I’m doing? What the hell are you talking about?” She paused. “Oh, whatever, come in. Have a bottle of wine with me.”

 

It was probably wrong to encourage FP to drink, rational Alice reminded her currently tipsy self, but, well, when the hell did Alice ever listen to rational Alice? Next to never. FP, who clearly ignored his inner voice telling him not to get into situations that would end poorly for all involved, followed her into the house.

 

“My life is in shambles, so you are going to have to clarify what aspect of it you wish to see if I am okay with,” she admitted, pulling out a bottle of Cristal and slamming it on the table, followed by two wine glasses. “Welcome to the Northside, FP. We’re going to hell, but we’re doing it in style.”

 

“You’re wasting that on me? Isn’t it like fifty bucks a bottle?” FP’s eyes were wide.

 

“Try 200,” she snapped. “And, no, wasting it would have been letting Harold get his mitts on it,” she snarled. “At least you aren’t completely odious.” She filled both glasses to the brim, and raised hers in a toast. “To being forever alone,” she offered, before she downed the entire drink. “Being forever alone, and worthless...to being a terrible parent. To not being able to escape myself…”

 

“So, I’m going to assume that you’re not okay with anything that has happened to you,” he said warily. “In the slightest.”

 

“My life is ruined. Polly would rather live with Penelope and Clifford Blossom, Betty hates me because I ruined her life, and I kicked Harold out of the house because he _orchestrated_ everything horrible that has ever happened to me.”

 

“How long can you keep the illusion of your marriage alive?” FP asked her, and she stared at him, wondering if it was the champagne making him seem so eloquent, or if he had just developed eloquence when it came to mocking her. She poured herself another glass. “It’s obvious that you’re not happy, Alice.”

 

“Forever,” she muttered. “Who cares about being happy? Hal would ruin me. He’s already fired me from the Register.”

 

“What do you have to lose?” He asked. “Have you ever been happy?”  


“Happiness is overrated,” she said, and she drew him in for a kiss, losing herself in him for a moment. “Being happy only hurt me.”

  


V 

  


“Hey! Get the hell out of here! Go home. The party’s over!” Alice heard a familiar voice bellowing at the people that had crowded on to her property, ever since the truth about who the Black Hood was had come out, smeared all over the front of the Riverdale Register (if it bleeds it leads, her mind was mocking her by saying), and, of course, the talk of the small town that Riverdale truly was when it came to humiliating one of their own. Alice hadn’t left the house since it had become clear to her that no one was going to leave her in peace, and she didn’t even want to think about what the press were going to make of the fact that FP Jones had emerged on the scene and was trying to get them to back the hell off. She sighed, picking up a sweater from the pile she had begun folding in an attempt to regain some sense of control and normalcy in her hideous dumpster fire of a life, slipping off the t-shirt that she’d put on that morning, sighing as she looked at how horrible she looked in the mirror. It was mocking her. She slid off the pajama bottoms that she had stolen from Betty and put on a pair of jeans, determined to not look as if she had literally hit rock bottom, as she felt like she had. There was no need to appear like she had just gotten out of bed, even if there was no one there to impress.

 

She listlessly tied her hair into a messy bun, managing to swipe some eyeliner on, and she steeled herself to open the door, praying that FP’s voice wasn’t some sort of hideous hallucination.

 

“I mean it! There’s nothing to see here! Why don’t you get your perverse kicks elsewhere? Oh, you want a quote from me?” Alice heard, and she cringed, recognizing the tone that FP had chosen as a challenge, rather than the helpful tone she was sure the reporter thought it was. “You can tell the _New York Times_ , is that where you’re from? You can tell them that FP Jones said they could go fuck themselves!”

 

“What the hell are you _doing_ out here?” Alice demanded in a hiss, hooking her fingers around the belt loops of his jeans to drag him into her house, though not before he flipped the entire crowd the bird. She scowled, letting the door slam behind her. “Was that really needed?”

 

“They were pissing me off,” he muttered. “Just because you were married to that asshole doesn’t mean that you deserve to be stalked by the _general public_ and the press. You are the press. Shouldn’t they respect you?”

 

“I ruled by fear, not respect,” she admitted, shaking her head. “But, I mean, why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with Jughead? Elizabeth said that he’s still in the hospital…”

 

“Jughead is saying goodbye to his mother,” he said, his tone flat. “Out of curiosity, what do you know about ten year old girls?”

 

“You really don’t want my parenting advice,” she said softly, shaking her head. “I was terrible at all of it.”

 

“She was running a chop shop,” he said. “I don’t want that for my daughter.”

 

“Wait, _what_ are you talking about?” Alice stared at him, her eyes wide. “Who is running a chop shop? Your wife?”

 

“She’s not my wife anymore,” he told her, and she watched him jam his hands in his pockets. “That was the real reason she came.”

 

“Your son, is laying half dead, in a hospital bed,” Alice stammered. “And the mother of the year thinks that it is an appropriate time to drop divorce papers on your lap, giving you _full custody_ of _both_ of your children? Is that what you’re _telling_ me?”

 

“Actually, the divorce papers were my idea,” he admitted. “But, yeah, the rest of it sounds accurate.”

 

“What?”

 

“Just didn’t seem worth it to fight anymore,” he said. “Especially when your daughter let it slip that Gladys never bothered to show up in town when I was locked up, _nor_ did she let him go to Toledo. And no wonder. She probably knew he would tell me about the _fucked up_ versions of the Serpents she started.”

 

“I don’t know what to say to that,” Alice said, after a moment. “You’re going through all of that and you still cared enough to check up on me?”

 

“Yeah,” he mumbled, and she noticed the faint flush that colored his cheeks. “I wanted to see how you were handling things. You know I care about you, Alice.”

 

“I know,” she sighed. “I would be doing better if those people would take a hint and leave me the hell alone.” She shook her head. “Thank you for yelling at them.”

 

“You shouldn’t be standing alone, Alice,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Come stay at the trailer. You and Betty. Jellybean will probably appreciate the company.”

  
  


VI

  


“I don’t want to go to the Northside,” Jellybean whined, and Alice sensed that FP was about to cave on allowing his _ten year old daughter_ to stay when all of the signs pointed to the fact that there was an impending attack, though, mainly, in this case, all of the signs were really a panicked phone call from Fred Andrews, who currently had about twenty teenage members of the Serpents in his living room, two teenagers (Betty and Jughead) refusing to answer either parent’s texts or phone calls (Alice was going to read them both a riot act when she got ahold of them, witnesses or not), and a message that had been relayed to said Serpents by _Penelope Blossom_ of all people. “I want to stay here, with Hot Dog.”

 

“Hot Dog is welcome to come with us,” Alice said, trying to remain patient with the preteen. “I’m not going to make him stay here, Forsythia. I just don’t particularly want all of us to be burnt to a crisp when there is a _perfectly_ serviceable house on Elm Street that we can stay in.”

 

“The house that you won’t stay in because of your creepy husband?” Jellybean asked.

 

“Forsythia!” FP bellowed. “What is the matter with you? I told you that Alice and Betty are staying here to help with your brother’s recovery, while you go to school, and I work. It’s not like I can afford to lose the job Fred gave me!”

 

“How did you know about Hal?” Alice demanded. The younger girl rolled her eyes. “No matter, how you knew isn’t important. I cannot let Fred single-handedly take care of those teenagers,” she fretted. “For Heaven’s sake, think of Sweet Pea and Archibald living together.” Jellybean appeared to be unmoved. “You could bring your vinyl,” she bribed. “I have a stereo set up. I have two. You could have your own… JB space in the basement. It’s finished.”

 

“I could be in there alone?”

 

“I assure you, that you would have your own space there. And you could even re-decorate it. My treat.”

 

“You don’t have to do that, Alice,” FP murmured, but she put up a hand to stop him. “Or, okay, maybe that would be a nice thing for you to do?”  


“Fine,” she snapped. “Whatever. But I want to be able to listen to Pink Floyd when we get there.”

 

FP and Alice exchanged a glance. “That’s acceptable,” she said. “You can blast the speakers out, for all I care.”

 

“Are you sure that it’s okay that we’re staying at your house?” He asked her quietly, after JB had gotten what she’d wanted from the two adults, and they continued to put boxes in the back of Alice’s station wagon, which already contained FP’s motorcycle. “Because, Al, we can stay here, if you want…?”

 

“I meant what I said about not wanting to deal with Fred vs twenty teenagers, FP,” she said, and she let out a sigh. “I think that it will be alright if I’m not alone. Fred says that everyone that was watching me is _gone_ ! He’s even brought in my mail!”   


“Did he go through it?”

 

“Why would he do that?” Alice rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Jones, I’m the one that goes through his.”

 

“I’m just saying, who the hell knows what these people have been saying to you,” he pointed out. “Every day there’s another article in that paper that you supposedly own,” he said. “You may not see them, Alice, but I do.”

 

“I can’t deal with what the Register does right now, FP,” she said. “I already have to focus on divorcing my husband, and trying to maintain some sort of normality for Elizabeth. Maybe I’ll just let Hiram run the paper into the ground and live off the money that is now mine,” she admitted, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I only have so much that I can handle right now.”

 

“I know, Alice.”

 

“You’re sweet to care, though,” she added, and she brushed a quick, chaste, kiss on his cheek, hearing the approaching dog and child long before they were spotted. “Soon,” she breathed, before she plastered on a smile for Forsythia. “Are you all set?”  


“I can really play it as loud as I want?”

 

“Of course,” she said. “I am the head of the neighborhood watch. What do I care if you break a noise ordinance or two?”

  


I 

  


“I’m so glad you’re home,” Alice said softly, giving FP a hug and a kiss as he entered the house, benevolently not saying a word about how riding his motorcycle in what had turned into a heavy dusting of snow had left _him_ covered in snow. Which, in turn, was doing a good job of covering the floor of her foyer, and her apron. “I was worried about you, you know, the weather and all. I would have come to get you.”

 

“It’s okay, Al,” he told her. “I know you would have, but, I’m fine. Just a little cold, that’s all.”

 

“Of course you are,” she said, clucking impatiently at him. “That’s because you’re still wearing that sopping wet leather jacket. Come, sit by the fireplace and get warm.”

 

“You started a fire?”

 

“Forsythia requested it,” she said, twisting the hem of her apron as she did, suddenly nervous. “She wants to toast marshmallows on it, and I want to try to see if...a new memory can replace the last time I lit it.” She sighed. “It seemed stupid to say no. Go, sit. We were making hot cocoa. I’ll get you a mug.”

 

“Alice, I know how to make hot cocoa,” he protested, though he took off his jacket and boots, and had the sense to follow her into the living room, where there was a perfectly nice fire going, and it was _not_ facing her rearranged sofa (Alice had allowed FP to coax her into purchasing a sinfully large flat screen television, which did not entirely mesh with her decor, but at least was distracting enough that she could actually go into her living room, and not have the other residents in her house think that she was absolutely insane), so that was acceptable. “You just put a packet and some water into the --”

 

“Do you think I have instant hot chocolate in my house?” She chastised, though her pout turned into a smile when he looped an arm around her waist, and pulled her close. “We made homemade cocoa,” she elaborated. “JB wants to make s’mores.”

 

“In your interior fireplace?” He echoed. “Okay, Al, if it makes the two of you happy, I won’t say no to joining.” He sighed. “Where are Betty and Jughead?”  


“They went to visit Archibald,” Alice said. “Fred drove them, he and Mary invited them.”

 

“How about Sweet Pea and Fangs?” The look of dread on her boyfriend’s face amused Alice more than it should have, and she elected to put him out of his misery. “Are they plotting something?”

 

“They went over to the Kellers,” she said. “Don’t ask me why.”

 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” JB darted into the room, as if she sensed the moment that Alice was going to attempt to have with her father, and she barrelled over to them, wrapping her arms around him. “Hey, princess.”

 

“Alice said that I could help her and Betty decorate the house for Christmas, Dad,” JB informed him, and she smiled at the young girl. “She says that Polly might come back.”

 

“I said that I _called_ Polly,” she corrected. “I am doubtful it will result in a visit.” Polly had been...less than receptive of Alice and Betty’s refusal to join that cult of hers, and her position on Alice had soured further when she had attended Hal’s trial and discovered that her mother had moved on with...well, suffice to say, it had been unpleasantly awkward. Her ears had been ringing for weeks. She had forced herself to move on. “But, we’ll have a good Christmas anyways.”

 

“Of course we will,” JB said. “I haven’t celebrated Christmas with Dad and Juggie in _years_ , so it will be awesome.”

 

FP squeezed her fingers. Alice shot him a smile. “Come on,” she said. “Let me go get the marshmallows.”


End file.
